


Forty-seven minutes, seven point eight seconds

by ninhursag



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Amnesia, Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Control, Multi, amtdi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-22
Updated: 2010-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-11 05:12:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/108784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the <a href="http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/"><strong>kink_bingo</strong></a> square mindcontrol/amnesia. A hostile alien telepath forces Spock to force Kirk and then wipes his memory, leaving Kirk to carry the memory alone. Uhura POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forty-seven minutes, seven point eight seconds

  
Uhura doesn't think anything of it at first, because Spock's almost the same when they come back. There's blood on his face, but it's mostly not his and he's still and formal in a way that yields just so if you put the right pressure on it. If he's a little stiffer than normal, he doesn't show it, not yet.

Jim's got bruises and scratches on his face and he walks stiffly like the injuries go down a lot lower, where they can't see, but he gives her a vague smile, salutes at Spock and lets McCoy drag him off to sickbay. Jim getting the wrong end of things on an away mission isn't new. She's sure she'll hear all about it from Spock later.

Uhura runs over Spock's knuckles with a dermal regenerator herself back in their quarters. There's red blood on the skin and under his fingernails, in thin splatters. That makes her pause. "I thought the local people had copper based blood," she says, while she wipes down the freshly healed skin with a cloth.

Spock frowns, staring at the offending knuckle like it's a scientific anomaly. "Correct," he says. "So the briefing indicated."

She smiles faintly and shakes her head. "What happened then? You miss and hit Jim? Or was there another mouthy, iron based organism running around?"

Spock's blank expression wipes her smile away. He looks so stiff and his eyes are wide and dark when they meet hers. His hands tighten against hers. "Nyota," he says, in a flat, unmodulated voice. "I find... I cannot recall exactly how these injuries were obtained."

She swallows and squeezes her fingers around his. He's got an eidetic memory, everyone knows that. There's not a damn thing he can't recall in the normal course. He doesn't have a head injury, at least no obvious ones, and McCoy scanned him when they beamed back onboard.

"Let's get you to sickbay," she says, without hesitation, tugging them both up. "You must have been exposed to something down there."

For a second, he stiffens and she wonders if he's going to fight her-- she'd expect that from Jim and his weird half-macho, half nervous thing. She'd expect it from most human men, really, but not Spock. She's relived when he finally nods and stands up with her. "That is... that is a logical suggestion," he says.

Uhura smiles at him and tries to tamp down on the raw beginning of nerves. He probably feels it anyway, through the grip he has on her skin, he must, but he doesn't let go of her hand. She does her best to project reassurance instead. Whatever is wrong, they'll figure it out.

She does her best, but she's not surprised when McCoy almost rams into them the second they step off the turbolift.

"You!" McCoy's mouth is set tight and thin and there's nothing but pure outrage in his eyes. "What the hell did you do to him?"

Spock's mouth opens and then closes without words coming out. One hand is still clutched in hers, and the other is behind his back, held into a tight fist. He speaks mechanically, stiffly. "I regret that I cannot recall. There is a hole in my memory that I believe encompasses forty-seven minutes and seven point eight seconds of our time on the planet."

McCoy seems to falter and shrink under the words. He shakes his head. Uhura takes a breath. "Is he all right?" she asks. He'd looked... not different from the usual on the transporter pad. He'd looked like Jim.

That earns her a sardonic shrug from McCoy. "Jim says he's fine. Who am I going to believe, him or my lying tricorder?"

Leave it to Spock to lay bare the facts. "He is injured and gravely so. You believe... you have good reason to believe that I am the cause of his injuries. I also have reason to believe this." It's not a question.

McCoy's face twists and whatever he sees in it makes Spock's hand twitch in hers. "Injuries? Is that what you're calling it?" He looks about a second from shouting and then he just stops and rubs a hand over his face, covering his eyes. "Fuck," he whispers. "Fuck."

Uhura feels her stomach twist. "Spock," she says, and then stops. If there was ever going to be a moment to turn and run and never find out for sure what that look on McCoy's face actually means it probably already passed her by. Not yet, though, she hopes. No one will tell her yet.

They stand there in the hall, like idiots in a holodrama. McCoy's the one who breaks the silence a few breaths later. "Let's get you under a scanner. I'm going to find out what the hell is going on."

She stays, hovering around the edges of the room while McCoy runs tests and scans. She stays until McCoy pushes her out with a, "I'm going to need him unconscious for the next set of tests, get yourself something to eat, for fuck's sake."

The idea of food's a joke and he must know it, but she takes the opportunity to go anyway. Just for a little while, she tells herself. Spock isn't alone.

It's a hell of a shock when she meets Jim in the observation deck and it's a shock to see he looks just like himself, hunched forward in a chair, looking at the stars. Injured and gravely so, Spock had said and McCoy hadn't argued, so she'd thought he'd be in a biobed, probably strapped down so he couldn't check himself against medical advice.

Fuck, has he done that again? She clears her throat and he turns, pale and startled, starlight mingling with the dim artificial light on the deck, flickering on his face. The bruises are gone, healed like they were never there. His eyes look too big in his face for a few seconds too long until he blinks, gives her a too bright facsimile of a smile, and seems to shake it off.

"I know what you're thinking," he says. "But I did not escape the wrath of Bones to hide out here. Sickbay discharged me fair and square."

"What happened?" she asks— blurts, really. He blinks at her.

"Spock didn't tell you?" he says. Stops. His hands twitch a little at his sides. A year ago, when they were students, she'd have grabbed his hand and squeezed, but it feels awkward now, strange and tense. He's her superior officer, even if he's still Jim. "Shit. No, of course not." The smile flashes again. "It was one of those crazy things that pretty much only happen to us. He got possessed by one of the local telepaths who... did not like my face." He scrubs one of those twitching hands over his face and shakes his head through the motion. "No one will believe this shit back home even if we try to tell them."

"Oh," Uhura says, but she'd already guessed it was something like that. She wants to let it go at that, almost. But if all it had been was a punch in the face, Jim would be in sickbay with Spock, hovering around and bothering McCoy while laughing about it. "How much didn't they like your face?"

Jim's smile slips, turns watery. "Really a lot," he says. There's a yawn, obviously faked. "Hey, this is nice and all, but I'm beat. I think I'm going to go actually follow medical advice and get some sleep."

"Jim," she says and it's instinct overcomes reluctance for long enough that she reaches for him. His shoulder is human warm under her hand and so tense she can feel the muscle spasm. "What happened?"

He shrugs away, out from under her touch. His eyes are cast down, blue fringed by dirty blonde lashes. "It was nothing. We got caught up in someone's social experiment, whatever. Ask Spock," he says. "I don't care if he tells you."

"He doesn't remember," she says, louder and harsher than she'd intended to. "I can't ask him what happened because he doesn't know. McCoy's got him in sickbay, checking for brain damage."

Jim's eyes are huge and startled in the dim light. He stops twitching like he never had been. "Brain damage? Seriously, Bones didn't tell me that. Is he okay?"

Uhura shakes a hand, a faintly helpless gesture. "It seems like it," she says. Jim watches her carefully for a long moment, like he's testing her for sincerity.

Whatever he's looking for, he must find it, because he finally nods and exhales noisily. He crosses his fingers, like he's making a wish. "Well. Okay then. I'm gonna get some sleep. Let me know if anything's wrong as soon as you know."

He's gone before she realizes he never answered any of her questions.

She goes back to quarters and replicates a green salad, but doesn't eat a bite of it.

Spock turns up a little after ship's midnight while she's tearing the now limp salad to pieces with her fork. She pushes the plate aside and turns to look at him. He's so pale and held so tight he's nearly vibrating. "My neurological condition appears to be stable, however Dr. McCoy has taken me off duty for forty-eight hours, pending revaluation," he says, like that's more than a bare beginning of what she wants to know.

"So, he thinks you're all right."

"My physical condition is adequate and within normal parameters."

"What can I do?" she whispers. She stands up, reaching out for him. He doesn't fight her touch, but doesn't embrace it either.

His face is still, only his lips move when he speaks. "You must impress on the Captain that I-- I am considering submitting a resignation and you might impress my sincerity on him."

She swallows hard and tries not to look as shocked as she feels. "What happened?" she can only ask. "Jim said you were... you were possessed." That's the wrong word, imprecise and mystical, laden with emotion. Spock should protest it.

He doesn't. "I cannot recall the details, but it is clear I committed assault on the person of a superior officer. He cannot say that I... the evidence is complete and meets the legal standard of doubt to the 99th percentile. There is no question of my guilt."

"Jim thinks it wasn't you," she says, as if that will finally make sense of things. Jim also said it wasn't that bad, but that's an obvious lie.

Spock's shoulders tighten. "Nyota," he says. "Ashayam." There's more, there's got to be more he wants to say, but it's all caught up somewhere. He slips closer, the bright heat of him flush against her, radiating warmth through the fabric of her uniform. Rests his chin on her shoulder while she draws her arms around him. "There is... I am aware of the Captain's beliefs. Forgive my illogic, I will not make another such demand of you."

What happened? She wants to scream. She doesn't. She tells herself that's her being respectful, but maybe she's too much of a coward to know.

She doesn't sleep, just spends the night curled up on the bed with Spock's face pressed against her neck and his arms around her waist. His breath is slow, like he's mediating in that awkward position. Her arms go numb and painful, but she doesn't dare move. They don't speak, she can't ask him to.

In the morning she's got alpha shift and she finally leaves Spock in their bed, just pressing a kiss against his forehead. He doesn't reach for her but his lips twitch in a near smile.

"Rest," she tells him. "We'll talk about when I get off shift."

"Indeed," he murmurs. She wants to tell him she'll stay

On shift, the world filters through a groggy haze. It's only years of training and experience that let her do her job unflinching, even when she looks at the too familiar body in the Captain's chair. She doesn't know if McCoy tried to pull him off shift too, or what he had to do to keep the Doctor from forcing the issue.

It doesn't show in his face. Jim looks fine if a little dark under the eyes, just like he always does after a rough night, like whatever had driven Spock into misery hadn't even touched him, and that's a mindfuck.

He calls her, "Lieutenant Uhura,", all nice and formal, like he thinks she's annoyed at him, but it comes with a tired little boy smile and she manages a smile back. Whatever happened, it's clearly not his fault. They muddle through the shift without much more than sidelong glances from the rest of the bridge crew. Uhura tells herself it's just like being back at the Academy-- they managed group projects and exercises sleep deprived and hung over plenty of times back then. Just like this.

Jim walks with her down to the turbolift as if they'd prearranged it. "How's Spock holding up?" he asks, once the doors and prying eyes are sealed away behind them. "Bones is worried about him, but you know Bones. His worry thing looks more like pissed unless you know better."

"McCoy's more worried about you, I think," she says, mostly by reflex. She doesn't expect more than a scoff at that and her stomach clenches, just a little, when she gets something more like a flinch instead.

"Yeah," Jim mumbles, with a narrow shrug. He talks a fraction of a second too fast, trying so hard for nonchalance that it hurts to see him miss the mark by that same stupid fraction. "It's not a big deal, you know? It's not like it was my first rodeo or like he did it on purpose. I think it must be harder on Spock."

She wants to hug him, like he's her little brother. Like he's Spock.

They're not friends who hug, her and Jim, not even before the rank thing got in the way. To be fair, before rank got in the way they were more teammates and occasional allies than friends at all, even if Jim liked to flirt like it was an intergalactic sport.

Now he's the Captain, even if he still looks like the boy who carried her home on his back the night when the bartender gave her drinks made for the wrong species and she couldn't walk, or the one she made soup for when he came down with the Andorian gut rot and couldn't eat solid food for a week. You don't hug your Captain.

Fuck it. She winds her arms around him anyway, without asking for permission. He stiffens for a moment and then just like that, he melts. A near inaudible sound that's almost a whimper and he rests his head on her shoulder like he can bury himself there. It's so much like Spock's response to touch when he's at the end of his rope and falling fast that she hardly know what to do with him.

"What happened, Jim?" she whispers into his hair. "What did they make him do to you?" He doesn't smell like Spock, at least. He's cooler to the touch, with the familiar iron-sweat tang of human skin.

For a second she thinks he's going to tell her. She can feel him under her hands, still and ready. Then the turbolift chimes softly before it opens and he jumps away, straightening his face into a neutral smile.

"Take care of Spock," he mutters, while she stifles a frustrated scream at the interruption. He turns and stalks off so fast she knows he'd rather be running. She doesn't shout the question out back at him, the 'who takes care of you?' She knows the answer.

In their shared quarters, Spock is at his desk, working steadily on his PADD as if this were any day and he had his schedules to see to. He turns to face her when she enters and nods in his usual greeting.

"That better not be your resignation you're drafting," she mutters and then wishes she could take the words back. This isn't funny. Joking about it won't make it go away.

He just shakes his head seriously. "Indeed, not. You and the Captain were both correct that there would be no logic in such an action."

It doesn't exactly go back to normal after that, not even a few days later when McCoy finally clears Spock for duty and Jim welcomes him back on the bridge like he's suffered a bout of flu instead of... whatever. It's more like everyone's retreated to their own little corners in the kingdom of denial and Uhura isn't sure how to pull them out, or if she even wants to.

She's not stupid or naive, she can guess what happened on that dingy little planet with whatever dingy little being had invaded Spock's mind. It's just that if no one says the words they can pretend nothing's changed and that it's only one more nightmare she tries to soothe away when Spock's sleeping. One more thing that keeps Jim awake and in the gym at all hours when he's not on duty, pounding a punching bag like he can beat the meaning of life out of it. It makes her sick and shaky and furious, and not a single one of those emotions have an outlet so all she can do is grit her teeth and take it.

On the third moon of Alpha Vega, they run into pirates and the kingdom of denial gets salted and burned. It's supposed to be a routine trade delegation, that's the only reason she's even there, she's not rated for hostile planetary missions.

Rated or not, when the sky turns neon with phaser canon fire, there's nothing to do but duck and grasp for her communicator while Spock and Jim hustle her between them like they're guarding their vulnerable point. She grinds her teeth in frustration when there's a whole lot of nothing from the Enterprise while chaos explodes all around them and delegates scatter in every direction.

"They're jamming our communications," she hisses. Jim makes a face but nods and Spock already has his phaser out, covering them as best he can with a hand weapon versus god knows what. Jim closes his eyes and breathes, like he's about to pull a rabbit out of his hat.

"Looks to me like there's a hole in their weapons range North by North East," Jim murmurs to Spock, barely audible over weapons fire and screaming. "Maybe wide enough for an escape corridor."

"Indeed," Spock says. "Moving in that direction will raise our chances of escape to 16.89%."

Jim grins at that, a sunny, real grin that lights up his eyes like Uhura hasn't seen from him... since. She can't help but smile in response, even if 16.89% sounds fairly godawful and she's really glad she didn't drink much of anything liquid in the last few hours.

"Awesome," he says.

They go, phasers in hand, like they'll do any good. Whatever god watches over idiots and crazies is clearly awake that night, because they make it through the field of fire and into the cover of the woods with no one getting singed.

By the time they stop running her lungs are burning and it's only raw adrenaline keeping her on her feet. Jim's face is red and he bends over, palms pressed to his knees, gasping for air. Spock's the only one who looks fresh enough to keep going, but he stops with them eyes darting everywhere and phaser still held ready, like he's assessing the safety of the perimeter.

Uhura waits until she has the breath to speak back before trying her communicator again, but there's still a lot of nothing. "If it's typical commercial application jamming another twenty clicks will get us out of range," she says. "Unless they take off, we're just going to have to walk."

Jim rubs the sweat from his forehead and nods.

She's already exhausted, walking in silence is all she can really do. Once it starts to get dark she's barely saved from tripping over roots and fallen branches by Spock's hand on her elbow more times than she can count.

Jim's the one that actually goes sprawling over a particularly nasty looking knot. He hits the ground with a cut off groan, the air obviously knocked right out of him. "Fuck," he hisses, while Uhura scrambles to kneel down beside him. "Shit. Fucking ow."

Spock hovers a little behind them, holding up a light source while she examines Jim's ankle. The thing looks puffy and unpleasantly red, even in the dull light. Jim grits his teeth when she puts her fingers on it and it's more than obvious he's not going to get away with standing on it right at the moment.

She looks up to share a frustrated glance with Spock and says, unthinkingly, "He can't walk on this right now. You're going to have to carry him if we're going to make it any further tonight."

"No, he can't."

"I think not."

Two voices chime in at once, Jim's bitten off and anguished and Spock's painfully neutral and clear and she remembers what she never should have forgotten-- they haven't so much as grazed skin since-- what happened. Never mind touched deliberately.

She could argue, bring in some actual logic and sense. They have clicks to cover and even if the pirates haven't come after them yet, it's not like that means they won't. The longer it goes before they contact the ship and beam out of here, the worse things could get, and Jim and Spock both know it.

So she should argue. She could do a lot of things. Instead she says, "Right. We'd better stop for the night then. See how it looks in the morning."

That's when they should argue, but neither of them does. Spock just nods and sees about setting up a camp site with their basically non-existent supplies-- one blanket, a light source, and their tricorders. Jim insists on sharing his lone canteen of water with her, with a wink and a, "Otherwise Spock will end up carrying us both," like he was never upset at all.

Stupidly, it's the blanket that causes the argument, especially as it gets darker and the cold settles in, making sweaty skin shiver.

"You are wounded, Captain," Spock says, his eyes studiously on the ground. "You should take the blanket. Share it with Lieutenant Uhura to mitigate the cold. I will take first watch."

"It's just my ankle, it's all good, and I think I can take watch. Anyway, you're the one that's seriously affected by cold," Jim says, louder, more strident. "Besides, don't you think it's creepy to be pushing me into bed with your girlfriend?"

That's really enough. "I am right here," she says and they both look at her with weirdly guilty flushes, like they've been caught at something. If this didn't suck so much, she'd have to laugh. "I'll sit in the middle and whoever takes watch can do it from under the blanket so they're not freezing too."

They both look like they want to argue some more, but to her relief, neither of them does. Of course it's a bad idea. If there was ever a worse way to get restful sleep then on an alien world with pirates out to kill them, it's trying to get the same sleep sandwiched between two intensely combat trained, traumatized men. Men who happen to be vitally important to her, one way or another.

She takes first watch over both of their protests. It's weirdly relaxing like this, seeing them curled up on either side of her. Spock, who's body and mind she knows so intimately, he might as well be part of her except when he's anything but. Jim, her wild and brilliant academy friend who she never expected to be so loyal to. It feels so much better to finally have him where she can watch over him like she has Spock.

She doesn't think they plan to sleep, in fact she's sure from Spock's breathing that he's in a light meditative trance, nothing more. Jim does seem to drop off after a while, but that doesn't surprise her. He's had dark circles so thick they might as well be carved in for weeks now. That he has bad dreams doesn't surprise her either, but she still has very little idea what to do about it other than grit her teeth, tighten her hand on her phaser and try to pretend her Captain isn't curled into a ball at her side whimpering in his sleep because someone hurt him. Or because someone used her Spock, used Jim's _friend_, to do it.

She wants to touch him, but she's half afraid he's too lost in his nightmare and he'll deck her if she tries. "Jim, Jimmy," she whispers, leaning close, but not too close. He whimpers something incoherent and presses up closer to her and fuck it, if he's going to punch her because he doesn't know where he is, let him. His forehead is damp and sticky and her palm and he makes another soft, lost sound.

It's stupid and ridiculous, but the only thing she can think of is being a little girl with her grandmother leaning over her bed when she was feverish and cranky and singing until she could sleep. She hasn't spoken Kiswahili much since she'd left home and joined the Fleet, but the words flow easily anyway.

She's not sure if it works, but after a little while Jim's lashes flutter in the dim light, showing a sliver of blue, and he makes another sound, softer and closer to contentment. He murmurs something that sounds almost like, "Telling me I need to grow up, huh? Funny," and Uhura's not sure if it's because he recognizes the words of the lullaby or if he's talking to someone in his own dreams. On pure impulse, she presses a light kiss to his forehead, tasting the salty sweat of him.

After that, he seems to settle, breathing evening out. If he dreams again, he doesn't show it. It's Spock who blinks, and pushes himself up on his elbows. "My mother offered comfort in such a manner as well," he says, a whisper so soft she thinks it's coming across more in his mental voice than words.

She shrugs in response and takes his hand in hers, sending whatever assurance she can with her thoughts through their mental link. Jim's not okay, this isn't okay, but it will be eventually, it has to be.

In return she gets a mental image, stark and cracked around the edges, of what had happened all those weeks ago, just minutes after whatever horror had come to be during that hole in Spock's memory. Grief and shame, and a small dark room with a narrow, bloody bed the only furniture in it. Jim on the bed, bruised and bleeding and flinching away, trying to fasten his clothes as if his hands weren't shaking. And Spock, who reached out to help him and saw red blood on his hands.

Uhura almost flinches herself, but she manages to keep steady, calm pushing aside the bile and grief. She's not sure if the calm is hers or Spock's but it seems to help in the end.

"My need for rest is not as great as a human's. I will take second watch," Spock says out loud, letting her slide down to try to catch what sleep she can.

In the morning Jim's ankle is still too messed up to walk on, so they make makeshift gloves out their blanket and Spock carries him with exquisite care, as if skin to skin contact would be the worst thing in the world. They talk as they go, ship's business, like they're walking the corridors of the Enterprise and everything is exactly the way it's supposed to be. As if pretending will make it so.

To some extent, it works. Back on the ship, Spock sleeps again and Jim... well, he stops roaming the corridors at night, at least where people can see him. The dark circles under his eyes can smaller. The veil of awkwardness that had gone unspoken on the bridge seems to lift too. It's only that Spock and Jim never seem to touch anymore.

Things are quiet, in a kind of bizarre equilibrium for weeks after that, before their next diplomatic mission. It's a tiny throw-away of an incident, the sort of thing they'd have laughed off before. A spoiled young princess who likes the look of a handsome starship Captain and his First Officer.

The girl smiles prettily and leans forward on her palms. "Kiss him for me!" she says, winking. "So that I can watch, and I'll tell you what my mother said her plans are."

Jim should have, once would have laughed and maybe done it, just for fun. Now he forces an empty smile and excuses himself abruptly. The girl pouts and looks at Spock and Uhura, "How boring and prudish!" she says and shakes her head so that her curls quiver. "In the old days, I'd have brought in my guards and _made_ you kiss and more if I wanted to."

The find Jim on the balcony, eyes empty and looking at nothing in particular until Uhura slides her arm around his elbow and he blinks down at her, startled out of whatever place he'd gone in his head. The spoiled child of a princess will never know how close she came to having Spock tear those golden curls out.

On their next shore leave, Uhura goes to bed with Jim. The idea is Spock's, though he never comes right out and asks her to in words, but she thinks... mostly, she thinks she wants to and if Spock thinks it will help, she's willing to try. It sounds really insane and more than a little selfish when she thinks about it later, but thinking straight wasn't something she was doing at the time. She still had the image behind her eyelids of Jim bleeding on that narrow bed and she wanted it gone, replaced with something, anything else. And maybe Jim wants that too.

She has to wait two nights in because the first night Jim's too drunk to do anything with but put to bed to sleep before she gets a chance to ask him. The second night he's still sipping his first drink and just blinks at her, veil of dark lashes over electric blue eyes.

"Seriously?" he demands. "What's Spock say?"

She shrugs and looks behind her. Spock is standing right there at her back, about ten paces behind, watching the exchange. They'd be out of earshot for a human, but he can hear every word, even over the bar noise.

Jim sighs heavily and then closes his eyes. "Well, this isn't creepy," he mutters.

Uhura just shakes her head. "No, it is. Nevermind, I'll just--"

"I didn't say no!" Jim's smile is faint, but real. It looks more like one of Spock's smiles than his own. "I'm just saying, we had all this crazy sexual tension for years and you wait until after... well, after what happened to actually come on to me? A guy might be forgiven for wondering about your kinks."

She'd roll her eyes but it's nothing she hasn't thought about herself. Instead she bites her lip and tries to make her sincerity show. "I just... you're right. I just, if there's going to be... sex between the three of us, wouldn't you rather it be--"

"Under our control?" Jim finishes for her, lifting a brow sardonically in a way too reminiscent of Spock. "Yeah, I hear you. Is there going to actually be sex between the three of us?"

That's a laugh and they both know it. They still can't even touch each other, Jim and Spock. "Let's just say I'm willing to be the bridge."

It happens like this... a room in the penthouse suite of a ridiculously luxurious hotel. The ceiling is made of plastisteel. A touch of a button turns it from opaque to one way transparent, showing them an endless blanket of stars over their heads.

Spock sits on one bed, legs curled and eyes half closed, like he's mediating and she draws Jim down on the other bed. Jim is very strong, if not as strong as Spock, and very sweet in a human way that she'd missed a little.

He calls her Uhura, even in bed, and slides his thumbs through her hair like he's been waiting for years just to mess it up. She hadn't expected to laugh in bed, but when he does that and kisses the tip of her nose she can't help it. That makes him grin, delighted. His mouth is as soft as it looks and he kisses her everywhere, from forehead to toes, until she's tingling.

He laughs when she shoves at him with her palms until he lets himself be sprawled over the bed so that she can return the favor. Jim smells surprisingly good under the bar stench, like well-washed man and clean laundry and all the awkward strangeness that could have been just seems to disappear until it's the easiest thing in the world to slide over his thighs and slip down onto his cock. He moans, low and sweet, his head tipped back exposing the clean line of his throat.

She turns around, just for a moment, and catches Spock's eyes, dark and huge and full them both, of something hungry. He nods at her in return and then Jim hand slide down between her legs sliding over wet skin until he's rubbing her clit in time with the motion of their bodies, and she's just riding him, dick and hands, until she loses it.

A few minutes later, when he's sprawled open and as spent as she is, it's Jim who crooks his finger and urges Spock to come to bed with them. Uhura doesn't know why she's surprised. He'll always be one of the bravest people she's ever known.

When Spock sits down on the edge of the bed, still tentative and apart, Jim struggles up on his knees and looks at him, long and serious. "It used your body to fuck me," he says. "And yeah, that's rape. Of you too, not just me." She wonders if this is the first time it's been said out loud so damn bluntly.

Spock swallows, a visible sign of emotion that almost makes her flinch. She takes his hand on pure impulse and he clutches it. It's just as easy to offer her other hand to Jim and Jim holds it hard.

"I... I have no memory of the events, only the aftermath," Spock says softly. "I cannot be said to have been effected in the manner that you were."

Jim shrugs in a way that's painful in its indifference. If he feels sorrow, it's for Spock and not himself, and knowing that hurts. "Shit happens, even if I wish... I've been, almost glad, that you didn't have to remember, that you don't have to carry that."

"You carry it," Spock says. "I can see the knowledge of it in your eyes." He shakes his head. "Human eyes show too much." It's true, Jim's eyes are blue and clear and right now they show every single thing.

"What do you want? Me to share the memory with you?" Jim makes it sound ridiculous, sneering at the very idea.

Spock only nods. "Indeed."

Jim laughs like it's been startled out of him, joylessly. Uhura rubs her thumb against his palm, caressing skin that's now intimately familiar to her touch until he turns to look at her. "And what do you think of that brilliant idea?" he says.

She can only shake her head. She wants to ask what he thinks is happening here, why he's in this bed, why they just had sex in it. "You've carried this alone long enough. Let us help you." Let Spock, she should be saying, but really what she means is _let me_.

He scrubs his face with his free hand, still laughing a little. "Man, this is fucked up. You don't want this, not really. You don't know what you're asking for."

Uhura sighs and shakes her head. She lifts up the hand she's still holding and presses it to her lips, mouth brushing over scarred knuckles. She looks up at Jim from under her lashes. His eyes are luminous.

"Jim," Spock says and it's a name and a plea all at once. There's a moment of nothing but silence, thick and overpowering.

Jim shakes his head. "Fine, fine. Whatever. Your funeral." Permission given, more or less, but neither of them moves. It's up to her, in the end, like these things so often are.

She takes Spock's too warm hand and brings it up to Jim's cheek, thumb and fingers in the meld position. "My mind to thine," Spock whispers, old, informal Vulcan sitting easily on his tongue, and then there are no more words.

Uhura half expected to be drawn into the meld by the touch, she's too familiar with Spock, the thin layer of ice on the surface of his mind, barely containing the fire underneath, She's been too intimate with them both, so it's no surprise when she's there, drawing between them like a green-growing vine, relentless enough to insinuate herself and crumble stone and steel. Jim's mind is bright chaos on the surface, equations and tactics and shiny distractions everywhere she looks. Underneath, there's battered, tempered steel, isolated and cold. He's alone in his mind and it makes her shiver, makes her want to pull him in, naked and close, until his skin is warmed from the inside and he's finally held safe between them. But there's no time.

There's no time, because she's in a small room, and she's in Jim's skin and she can only think of what he'd said the few times he'd talked about it at all. _It's not like it was my first rodeo_. In Jim's mind and under his skin, she knows exactly what it means, because he's bitterly angry and afraid and miserable anticipating the hurt, but he's not... not surprised. That someone would hurt him like this.

It's worse that it's Spock, face twisted into a mask that's nothing like the Spock he's come to know. He's looking into the face of something else, something wearing Spock like a second skin. Something using Spock's voice to taunt him that sounds nothing like Spock at all.

Forty-seven minutes and seven point eight seconds. Ten of those minutes was spent in taunting, anticipation. Beating the fight out of Jim with Spock's brute physical strength. He doesn't even fight that hard, because Spock's still in there somewhere, and fuck, does he know? Is he watching, trapped behind those dark, empty eyes, seeing what his body is doing to Jim?

One minute and some uncounted number of seconds without Spock there to keep the measure. Time to strip him and laugh into his ear, hot and hungry.

Another thirty-five for it to take what it wants. Thick, dull pain alternating with sharp. Jim bites his lip through to the blood while it stares into his face, watching him from out of Spock's eyes. His blood is painted in messy streaks on Spock's cheek, on Spock's knuckles and over Spock's dick. He screams, screams himself hoarse, tears the flimsy bedsheets with his hands, but he doesn't cry.

Forty-seven minutes and seven point eight seconds. Spock's body collapses like the strings are cut while Jim fumbles for his clothes, like covering himself up will cover anything. It's worse when those dark brown eyes open, Vulcan impassivity blasted apart by horror, and Spock is finally there with him.

When the meld breaks, Uhura's crying. Not pretty tears, just thick, wet messy sobs. All the broken misery that neither of the men on the bed with her can let out. Jim makes a noise and kisses her, on the cheek, on the mouth, on her chin, like he's trying to taste her not stop her. Another beat and Spock is kissing her too, delicate and dry and then harder. She's got arms around both of them and they're holding her and each other, clinging in a way that's almost innocent, like children after a nightmare.

Even the kisses don't change that, it's no more than kisses and salt and hands, until they're cocooned as close as they can get without fucking or another mindmeld and for now it's close enough.

She's the one with the presence of mind left to pull the sheets and blankets over them and they lay there in the dark, watching stars and listening to themselves breathe.

"It's not your fault," Jim whispers. "You know I don't blame you."

"I am aware," Spock returns, just as softly. "And I am... grateful."

Uhura smiles and closes her eyes. Now she can sleep.

After leave ends she can see Jim trying to detach himself mentally, pull away and smile sweetly. Open his mouth like he's going to thank them for showing him a good time, which, if he says that, she'll have to hit him. She spares herself the need by stopping him with a touch to the cheek and a kiss that startles him silent.

"You're not in this alone," she says and watches him nod, big eyed and suddenly quiet.

"I'll keep that under advisement," he says. Then he smiles at her and winks at Spock and is gone.

She doesn't know if it's right to go after him, but she'd have tried. She'd have definitely tried, if she hadn't come back to her quarters to find him sitting in the middle of the bed she shares with Spock, knees drawn up to his chin and lower lips sucked between his teeth and bitten.

"Look at me," he says, smiling like he's not nervous at all. "I'm so damned cute and I followed you home and everything. I'm completely ship trained and I'll sleep at the foot of your bed and keep your feet warm. You totally want to keep me now, right?"

An hour later, Spock finds them sitting together on the bed. He nods to himself, takes off his boots, and then joins them.


End file.
